


Packing Blues

by agent85



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Canon Compliant, F/M, Fitzsimmons Week, Playground Era, Sci-Ops Era (Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.), SciOps Era, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Up to the End of Season Two, at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-16 06:07:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4614102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent85/pseuds/agent85
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He grinned at her, and she couldn't help but grin back before she said, "How do you always know how to make me feel better?"</p><p>"It's not rocket science," he answered, "though, of course, it could be."</p><p> <br/>In which Fitz and Simmons discover that change is hard, but ultimately worth it.</p><p>For FitzSimmons Week, Day 2: Adventure</p>
            </blockquote>





	Packing Blues

"Simmons, are you okay?"

"Yes, of course, I just—"

"Simmons, you're crying!"

His arms were around her in a minute, and she felt a little more than silly about the whole situation. She found herself hugging him tighter.

"This was your idea, you know," Fitz whispered.

"I know."

"Took you three weeks to convince me."

"You're still not convinced."

She felt him smile against her cheek.

"No."

She let him hold her for a moment longer as she sobbed into his shoulder, feeling too young and too old all at once. But Fitz was the best antidote for moods like these. Somehow, he always knew when to speak and when to wrap her in his arms and silence.

And he was going with her; she had to remember that. No one would ever take Leopold Fitz away from her, and she didn't know a better way to soothe her anxiety than to repeat that fact like a mantra.

"I just . . . I love the lab," she finally said.

"So do I."

"We won't have as much room on a seven-forty-seven."

"Yes, there was an entire slide about that in my Powerpoint presentation."

She smiled at that, and when she pulled back to look at him, he was smiling, too.

"But it'll be our lab, Fitz. No one else's. And it's the only way, after all."

Fitz rolled his eyes and nodded. "It's a crime really, sticking us behind a desk. They shouldn't be surprised that we prefer a firing squad. Any decent scientist would."

She swatted at his arm, trying to hold back a chuckle and failing. "It's not a firing squad, Fitz. We're simply going into the field."

"Yes," he agreed, "yes, and some of the places we're going will  _have_  firing squads, Simmons."

She fold her arms. "Such as?"

"Well," Fitz answered, "Cuba, for one."

"When are we ever going to go to Cuba?"

"Indonesia . . ."

"Fitz."

"The United Arab Emirates . . ."

"Fitz, stop!"

He promptly closed his mouth and looked at her, quite scandalized.

"It's a dangerous world out there, Simmons."

"I know, but—"

"And we ought to be prepared for the inevitable day when we regret our decision to leave SciOps."

"Ugh, Fitz!"

He met her gaze, and once again quieted. Simmons put a hand on each of his shoulders in a bid for his undivided attention.

"Yes, Fitz, there will be dangers out there, but first of all, we'll likely stay in our lab, our _own personal mobile_  lab, mind you. And second, there will also be endless opportunities for discovery! And, as I have said before, probably monkeys."

Fitz crossed his arms in a huff. "We can always go to the zoo, Simmons."

She ducked low to catch his eye. "Can any monkey in any zoo compare to the sort of specimen you'd find outside of a cage?"

Fitz scowled. "No."

"No," she repeated, smiling in victory. "No, there isn't. And what wouldn't you give to see a capuchin in the wild, Fitz? Or an orangutan?"

Fitz shook his head. "Oragutans are native to Indonesia, and I've already said—"

"I know what you said."

"It's just . . . what if we go out there, and we don't come back? Or we come back different?"

Simmons gave him a glare. "You mean shot-in-the-head different, or—"

"Simmons! This is serious. What if we go out there, and something happens to us?"

She furrowed her brow. "Then SHIELD will be there for us."

"And if they can't be?" She scoffed, but he continued, "They can't be everywhere; you know that. And sometimes they send agents in without extraction plans."

"They send  _Avengers_  in without—"

"But what if they can't, Simmons? What if everything falls apart, and we're on our own?"

She opened her mouth to scold him, but stopped when she saw the fear in his eyes, and felt it mirrored in a sliver of her own heart.

"Well then, Fitz," she said, as much to herself as to him, "then we'll have each other, won't we?"

He nodded at that. "Yeah," he relented, putting a hand over one of hers. "Yeah, we will. Always."

"Always," she agreed. They shared a smile for a moment before she slid her hands off his shoulders and embraced him again, taking in his texture and scent. She became lost in the heady realization that Fitz was more than just a partner; he was the best friend she'd ever had, or likely ever could have. He was the other half of her brain, a piece of home, and a promise of the future all at once. If they were together, how could they ever fail?

She pulled back from the hug with a renewed hope. They were FitzSimmons, after all. There wasn't a thing in the world they couldn't do together.

But when she looked around her room, she found herself sighing.

"I'm almost done packing. Why is it such a sad thing?"

He scratched at the back of his neck. "Because we're going to pack my apartment next?"

"Oh, right," she huffed, "and I bet you haven't even started."

Fitz shot her a mischievous grin. "'Course not. That's what I've got you for."

She rolled her eyes at him, but couldn't keep the smile off her face. "Okay. But I will require  _at least_  three beers in exchange for my help."

Fitz smiled back. "Aren't those always the terms?" 

* * *

It was strange to be a patient in her own lab. It was strange to be anything, really. Even her own humanity seemed odd, like she was wearing a borrowed suit of flesh that didn't quite fit. But she tried to stay calm. It was the only way she could repay the ones who risked life and limb to bring her back.

Well, it was really just the one. And just as if summoned by the thought, he walked through the double doors and came to sit next to her on the hospital bed.

"How're you feeling?"

It was a simple question, a pleasantry, really, but there were so many emotions competing for her attention that she had no idea what to say. He was inquiring after her physical well-being, of course, but there was also the way the crushing loneliness had been banished with his presence. And, of course, there was the flooding of affection that she would never get used to.

In the end, she decided to answer as honestly as possible.

"I'm," she said, "I'm not sure, really. I think I'm . . . different. It's like one Jemma went into that rock, and another one came back out."

Her brain went blank when he took her hand, because Fitz never did that, not ever. And yet, his fingers were soon twined with hers, and placed over his heart.

"I told you this would happen," he said, avoiding her eyes. "And I told you SHIELD might not be there when it did." He looked up then, his eyes seeking hers. "And then you said-"

"That we'd have each other," she finished. She thought she saw him blush as he nodded.

"Yeah, and you were right, weren't you?"

She bumped his shoulder with hers, "Of course I was."

Fitz's jaw dropped in mock indignation. "Well, Agent Simmons, I wouldn't go _that_  far. I mean, why don't we put somebody in a rock-monster and see how _you_  handle it—" 

"Fitz."

"Especially when it's against direct orders, Miss Follows-the-Rules—"

"Fitz!"

He turned to her with a glare. "What?"

She grinned. "That's Agent Follows-the-Rules to you."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? Eleven years of friendship, and that's all I get?"

She shrugged. "I will also accept Doctor Follows-the-Rules, if you prefer."

"Oh, well how generous."

He grinned at her, and she couldn't help but grin back before she said, "How do you always know how to make me feel better?"

"It's not rocket science," he answered, "though, of course, it could be."

She chuckled. "Because you're a rocket scientist?"

"Hey," he admonished with a jab of his finger, "that's  _Doctor_  Rocket Scientist to you."

It was then that they each erupted into giggles that were exacerbated by those of the other, and when they were out of breath, she pulled him towards her with their joined hands and placed a kiss on his cheek.

He blushed instantly. "What was that for?"

When he had the courage to meet her eyes, she lost herself in them, in the realization of the promises they'd made and kept. In the new promises that were just on the horizon.

Eventually, she had the presence of mind to say, "That was thanking you."

Fitz pursed his lips. "For what?"

"You know what," she chided gently, "for everything."

Fitz let go of her hand. "Oh, no you don't. You know how this works."

Jemma blinked. "What?"

Fitz was unmoved. "You know how gratitude works, especially between  _us_ , after all that's  _happened_." The way he folded his arms and glared at her almost put her into a panic, because this . . .  _thing_  between them was so new, and she was new, in a way, and she wasn't quite sure if she was ready for . . .

She groaned and swatted at his arm.

"Okay," she relented, trying to hold back a smirk, "how many beers do I owe you?"

Fitz thought for a moment. "At least . . . three hundred, I think. Well, three hundred and three, because when you're done here, we'll have to unpack your things."

She groaned again then, and the thought of  _why_  she needed her things unpacked would have stung if it weren't for the cheeky look on her best friend's face.

"I'm going to be buying you beers for the rest of my life, aren't I?"

"Well, I certainly hope so," he said, before he caught himself and turned bright red. "I mean, you know, because I love beer, and all."

She narrowed her gaze. "You love _beer_ ," she deadpanned.

"You know I do, Simmons," he replied.

"It's beer you love. Not anything else."

He twiddled his thumbs. "Is that what I said?"

He was adorable. He was adorable, and faithful, and brave, and hers. She grabbed one of his twitching hands and held it.

"Well, not quite," she answered, "but either way, I think you and I have some grand adventures ahead of us."

He turned to beam at her.

"You think so?"

"Yes, I do."

**Author's Note:**

> I mean, if you _have_ to go, firing squad isn't the _worst_ way to do it.
> 
> I regularly post sneak peeks and general ramblings about my writing on [my tumblr](http://agent-85.tumblr.com/tagged/Writings%20of%20Agent%2085).


End file.
